Friends, family and associates,
I have just 2 days left in India. I would try to expound my overall expereince here, but it is too much for words. Or, I should say, more accurately that time is too pressing for words. I have just arrived back at my apartment in Delhi from Kolkata and there are a million things to do (turn in an essay I literally JUST finished that was due two weeks ago, finish some last minute shopping, exchange this fake "Adidas" duffle bag that ripped at the seams when I was gently cramming full of shh to send home, prepping for a friend's birthday, cleaning the apartment, freezing to death here, etc).
So I just got back from 3 fabulous days in Kokata-the city that celebrates my girl Kali). I went with the last survivors of our apartment, Nina and Camden. We took an overnight seater-express train on the way there and it was really fun sleeping sitting up/sitting for 18 hours. Not really, but I've had less comfortable rides. And I actually did have a really good conversation about sex and cultural differences between America and India with this really non-creepy Indian dude around my age! Awesome!
We deboarded the train to some rain and grey skies--only fitting considering the moist nature of our stay in India. We hopped in a trade union cab (like Kerala, Kolkata rocks the Commi vote) and got into some nasty traffic pulsing through crammed streets lined with trash, beggars, dilapidated old colonial structures and the most beautiful faces I've seen in India (except maybe for those in Yamunotri). Kolkata: full of beggars and refuse and Koti rolls and wide boulevards. Like a combination of Delhi and Bombay. The New York of India. I especially dug the metro system here. Its literally like a trolley car that goes underground. None of that air-conditioned, air-pressurized doors nonsense you find on the Delhi Metro or BART. Felt very 1940s. All grey. The people's haircuts and their outfits all emanated an air of nostalgia. Right now winter season is upon us and EVERYONE here is busting out the craziest, ugliest sweaters ever (if you're into ugly sweaters, you should check out my homegirl's blog: http://fuckyeahuglysweaters.tumblr.com/). It's a thrifters wet dream for sure. The best of the glittery, awkward fitting sweater vests that come in an array of colors and that every other Indian dude has been sporting for the past month. AMAZING.
But back to Kolkata. On day one we ate some Koti rolls (like parantha with an egg cooked on it + potatoes or chicken or mutton + lime +peppers + delcious spices and wrapped like a lil burrito. SO DELICIOUS), check out the shopping scene got our bearings and ate at this awesome place called Peter Cat where I had the best naan OF MY LIFE (Kubuli naan--throw some dried fruit on it, yeow!). The second day we embarked on a journey to Dakshineswar, where this epic Kali temple is, north of the city proper. After a metro ride sweetened by a monk in a glorious peach-hued get up and crazy public bus ride, we arrived at the massive temple. In short, I gave my girl some puja and saw the highest concentration of the best saris ever. Then we got back to the city and saw our first and only Hindi movie in theatres, Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey starring my boy Abhishek Bachchan (okay, I don't even want to talk about how criminally neglect I have been to Bollywood while I've been here, so let's not get into it). It was about the Chittagong uprising during the struggle for Indian Independence in the 1930s, GET ON THAT HISTORY. Loved it. Especially hilarious that the staff turned on the house lights IMMEDIATELY once the credits started rolling.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Poon-jab-i
Alright dear readers, it's time to get real. As I have about a week left in India I figure I now may divulge the intimate details of my sexual life in Delhi. Sorry to save all the juice until now, but I really didn't want to freak my parents out (sorry, I love you!).
Sexual harrassment in Delhi is terrrible. But you probably already kne that. One reason I avoided writing this for so long is because the emotions that harrassment evokes is hard to put into words. To spit a little James Joyce free flow off the top of my dome: walking down the street surrounded by honking and dirt and dust and every inhale is of air you know is the most polluted in the world. So polluted. For 6 months you try not to take a deep breath. Top of the toes always aware of the never ending glare suspended in that thick air all eyes on me (something like the Tupac track never stops playing in my head). Sometimes guys will take pictures. Sometimes they ask permission and sometimes they sneak photos of me and my female friends over their shoulders with camera phones. Circus freaks to fuck. Only in their dreams. And the sexuality repressed is manifest in our western bodies. Of course we must be white and willing. And if the eyes aren't penetrating enough. The graze of a hand or a squeeze or a pinch. Always unwanted and I hope I don't flinch from an honest caress when I go home.
And now, a few case studies, dear readers. Of my experiences and fellow student travellers:
EPISODE 1: Poon-jab-i
The latest episode happened just 2 nights ago, dear friends. Thus we shall make it first because it is the freshest in my mind. I had been studying at a friend's apartment a mere metro stop away for the Hindi final that we had yesterday (यह बहुत मुश्किल था, लेकिन मुझे लगता है कि यह ठीक था). I was walking back to our apartment on good ol' Mukhergee Nagar in the Kingsway Camp neighborhood of North Delhi around 930 pm. Usually the walk is fine, there are lots of people on the street and I don't feel too threatened (though of course dudes will drive by in their little Geo Metro-esque cars and basicaly invite you home with them, assuming you're a prostitute if you're a woman walking alone anywhere, pretty much).
Anyways. I am walking home, a little stressed out with all the work I have to do for finals and listening to my ipod. I notice a guy walking way ahead of me. He looks like a student. Probably goes to Delhi University. There is a park on my left hand side and I am walking on the actual street with the cars/bikes/tractors/rickshaws/elephants/motorcycles--partly because there is no sidewalk and partly because what you could call a sidewalk is not well lit. I just about reach the end of the park where a large Uhaul-ish truck is parked. The guy that was walking ahead of me stopped and was about 10 feet away from me just staring. I didn't think anything of it--getting stares is routine. I just kept walking. I looked up and made eye contact with him for the split of a second, which I guess was a blatant sexual gesture because he rushed at me. He made a quick jab at my vag (and kind of missed-- I was wearing baggy Indian leggings called Chowkidars under a baggy dress that fell about 2 inches above my knees, a sweater and a scarf).
Now readers, as you will continue to read you shall see that I am no new victim of sexual harrassment. I have been gazed at, grazed and grabbed. Sexually advanced upon by men in clothing shops telling me I could "really fill out a sari" to packs of 5 year olds with hungry hands assailing me and Nina on the street. But this, dear readers, was shocking. Usually I would yell: "Ma-bahen nahee hai kyaa?? Bahoot bigara!! Payshrum!" But I just turned and watched him SPRINT down the street. This dude seriously hauled a$$. The kind of run where your legs are pumpig so furiously that your heels hit your butt with every stride. And I just turned and watched him run for a couple seconds. It never once occured to me to chase him. Too shocked to yell. And there is never any point in reporting this kind of thing. Because the description of the assailant? Oh he was about 5'8'', black hair, brown eyes, jeans, black wind breaker, knock-off Converse sneakers. In the college area where I live, that describes about 20% of the men here. And I'd have to communicate with the police. Notoriously no better.
After the few seconds of shock, I kind of just laughed it off and kept walking home. I mean, it was pretty comical seeing that guy run so fast after a failed attempt at a crotch-grab. And funny too that this is not necessarily a routine part of the day. And that it happens everywhere and all the time, as you shall read further, readers. And I must keep my head because for every 1 poon-jab, there are a thousand other males who don't make me flinch.
EPISODE 2: ANYONE ELSE WANT A FEEL?!
This day was quite ridiculous.
Picture me cruising down mad packed streets of Chandni Chowk, the bomb spot for shopping spices, wholesale fabric and quite near to Jama Masjid (the biggest Mosque in India). Chandni Chowk is deep in the heart of Old Delhi, and quite near where I live (like 4 metro stops away). I am walking down the street in teal leggings, a black mini skirt and a huge, baggy grey tshirt (that covers my bum)--essentially, I am meeting the typical requirements of propriety for India, but, admittedly, I should probably have been wearing baggy pants or traditional Indian clothing in this part of the city, but I really didnt expect more harassment than usual in my day's get-up.
So I'm walking down the street and this guy behind me basically pulls what I call the credit card swipe--when a dude is walking with his hands straight at his sides and basically slides one in between your ass cheeks, pretending its just part of his walking stride. Worse thing about sexual harassment here is that they always try and act like its an innocent mistake. Maybe its like that in the states sometimes too, though I can only recall really obvious full-apple harassment grabs back home. So I whip around and say something like "Get the fuck off me! Payshrum! (shameless)," and dude just scurries down a random side alley. And to put this in context, I had just ended a week of frustration so deep I was not leaving my apartment much except for class because the thought of traveling on the metro was so odious that I could not bring myself to do it (most harassment happened on the packed cars of the metro, but now there is a womens only car--MIRACLE--so no more harassment! Or not as much).
Okay after I heave a sigh of frustration/ "WHO DO THESE PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE" it starts monsoon pouring, of course (did I mention that India just had the gnarliest monsoon since 1947? Literally rained 27 out of 30 days in September. Hard). So I am soaked. Get some spices, get a few dudes who brush across your chest with the sides of their body when there is plenty of room on the sidewalk that makes physical contact totally unnecessary (how a tit on your shoulder is pleasurable to some of these dudes is not beyond me, but then again, a lot of things are beyond the realm of "logic").
We wind our way to the metro, accidentally taking a wrong side street for a couple minutes that leads to a dead end. Not big deal usually, but in a downpour while you're late for Hindi class? Sucks! So we finally get to the metro and the platform that leads down to the metro is PACKED. Like sardines. Definitely weird, but here's my explanation: so most metro stops have a set of about 6 stairs that lead to the stairs that lead down to the trains so that when it rains the metro doesn't flood. Chandni Chowk is no exception. Additionally, there is a covered pathway leading towards the main shopping streets at this particular stop. So all the people that had gotten off the metro just didnt want to get their feet wet (they were safe on the steps) and were crowding this little awning; there was mad backup from people down below trying to get up, too. And the escalator was out of service as well (a contraption that young men will shove grandmothers out of their way to get on. Seriously. At first I thought it was because people in Delhi are lazy--a problematic assumption, I know, but a friend of a friend explained that its because escalators are so new in India lots of people are super stoked on them--why NOT take the escalator?!).
So the stairs are totally packed full. A wall of people about 20 breasts wide heaving upwards, letting a mere trickle 2 sad souls broad down into the belly of the metro. Needless to say there was a lot of grabbing and swiping going on down there, even in my defense stance (hand across the chest and another behind the back, guarding the rump). Old and young alike! Anyways, we finally get into the metro to take the 3 stops to Hindi. And of course the train is packed shoulder to shoulder as we are about to stop at a huge transfer point. At this stage in the journey I am already ranting about assgrabs and ignorance. And as we pull up to the Kashmere Gate transfer stop, I get the deepest swipe with a twist and I spin around and shove the suspected young rapscallion and start telling him off in Hindi and English: "WHO THE FUCK JUST TOUCHED ME!? PAYSHRUM! BAHENCHODE!" And then I turn to the rest of the car "Anyone else want a feel? I'm western so I'll probably like it! UGHHH" And a woman waiting for another train on the platform makes eye contact with me and her jaw drops. And the rest of the train is just snickering and wide-eyed--what did that white woman just say?? And keep in mind that throughout this entire ordeal I am COMPLETELY soaked from the rain. Dripping shower sweat monsoon wet!
And my dearest friend Nina, who was with me through it all, just starts laughing and I start to laugh and cry at the ridiculousnes of the entire situation.
EPISODE 3: Indian boys very dirty
This episode happened back in the day. Something like that weekend in July when the gang went to Rishikesh (the yoga capital of da world). The Beatles went there to do some yoga in '68 and backpackers have been learning the art of sun salutations ever since. Also, Rishikesh is right on the Ganges and is thus quite a holy pilgrim town so there were many Indian tourists there in addition to the copious backpackers and yoga-teacher-hopefuls. Being a white in a pilgrim tourist town in the middle of summer when backpackers are few and far between because the heat is something like 100 degrees Farenheit was really like being another one of the attractions. So there were pictures being taken of us like mad. Some ask, "Ma'am one photo please? Ma'am? Ma'am?!" and some just try to sneak pics with camera phones of their shoulders or right in front of your face. These pictures can get you into trouble. At first we were always "nice" about it. What's the harm? Well I'll tell you.
Example 1: Dude at a Hindu shrine on the Ganges asks to take a picture with me. I allow it because he is dressed like a hilarious pseudo-American d-bag and why not? Then asks for my number and asks me to marry him.
Example 2: It is crazy hot. Ever looking like we just got out of a shower, either due to the surprise monsoon downpours or those 100 degrees of Farenheit pressing on our skin. Me and 3 other girls decide to hike to a waterfall that is supposed to be just outside of the town before we have to travel back to Mussoorie. We wind our way around sweaty roads and find the opening of the path by a large fresh water pool and a small roadside shack. We are victorious in the 15 minute mini-hike to the waterfall after trailing behind two local boys. The waterfall is small and there are a couple of local guys enjoying the cool rush, but the crush of fresh water is too satiating to resist. We all leap under the gush, fully clothed of course, and it is one of the most refreshing moments ever. After a 10 minute romp and a few pictures upon request, we begin our sweaty walk back to town. One of the guys that we had followed up the trail and that had taken our picture caught up to our group and starts asking about what school we go to, where we're from, the usual interrogation. I am down to practice my Hindi so I entertain his seemingly innocuous inquiries and then all the sudden he starts saying "indian boys very dirty" and I was like "peer boliye??" ('please speak again' in Hindi) and he kept saying "indian boys very dirty." At which point I mobbed up to the rest of the group. "Is anyone else hearing this!?! Am I alone here?!?!"
EPISODE 4: Chai on the side
This episode happened to a good friend on the same study abroad program as I. Near her apartment there are lots of delicious street foods that she and her housemates often frequented. Over time they all had become chummy with the vendors who sold delights ranging from samosas to chai. One evening their chai-wallah (wallah=person of, so a person who sells chai is called a chai-wallah, or a person from Delhi is called a Delhi-wallah) offered to bring them chai/snacks to their apartment (which is not uncommon. You can order anything under the sun and have it delivered to your door here). Basically, chai-wallah comes in and when my friend went to pay he just straight up groped her. In her house. And then just stood there until the shocked gropee told her roommate what happened and said roommate promptly removed the assailant.
Episode 5: Metrosexual Harassment
This is probably the worst story. No. It is the worst.
So theres this girl on the trip is really sweet and quiet. One afternoon she is on the metro going to class and of course it is body to body packed. She feels this guy touching her hand and keeps moving her hand away, trying to ignore him and make a little space for herself. But this dude is relentless and won't stop touching her. She finally looks down and sees that its not his hand thats touching hers, but his penis. And he is jerking off in the crowded metro, touching her hand. AWESOME.
Alright friends and family. Hope you aren't too alarmed. I'll be back in America in t-minus one month, I just have to go to Thailand and Australia really quick.
x's and o's
Sexual harrassment in Delhi is terrrible. But you probably already kne that. One reason I avoided writing this for so long is because the emotions that harrassment evokes is hard to put into words. To spit a little James Joyce free flow off the top of my dome: walking down the street surrounded by honking and dirt and dust and every inhale is of air you know is the most polluted in the world. So polluted. For 6 months you try not to take a deep breath. Top of the toes always aware of the never ending glare suspended in that thick air all eyes on me (something like the Tupac track never stops playing in my head). Sometimes guys will take pictures. Sometimes they ask permission and sometimes they sneak photos of me and my female friends over their shoulders with camera phones. Circus freaks to fuck. Only in their dreams. And the sexuality repressed is manifest in our western bodies. Of course we must be white and willing. And if the eyes aren't penetrating enough. The graze of a hand or a squeeze or a pinch. Always unwanted and I hope I don't flinch from an honest caress when I go home.
And now, a few case studies, dear readers. Of my experiences and fellow student travellers:
EPISODE 1: Poon-jab-i
The latest episode happened just 2 nights ago, dear friends. Thus we shall make it first because it is the freshest in my mind. I had been studying at a friend's apartment a mere metro stop away for the Hindi final that we had yesterday (यह बहुत मुश्किल था, लेकिन मुझे लगता है कि यह ठीक था). I was walking back to our apartment on good ol' Mukhergee Nagar in the Kingsway Camp neighborhood of North Delhi around 930 pm. Usually the walk is fine, there are lots of people on the street and I don't feel too threatened (though of course dudes will drive by in their little Geo Metro-esque cars and basicaly invite you home with them, assuming you're a prostitute if you're a woman walking alone anywhere, pretty much).
Anyways. I am walking home, a little stressed out with all the work I have to do for finals and listening to my ipod. I notice a guy walking way ahead of me. He looks like a student. Probably goes to Delhi University. There is a park on my left hand side and I am walking on the actual street with the cars/bikes/tractors/rickshaws/elephants/motorcycles--partly because there is no sidewalk and partly because what you could call a sidewalk is not well lit. I just about reach the end of the park where a large Uhaul-ish truck is parked. The guy that was walking ahead of me stopped and was about 10 feet away from me just staring. I didn't think anything of it--getting stares is routine. I just kept walking. I looked up and made eye contact with him for the split of a second, which I guess was a blatant sexual gesture because he rushed at me. He made a quick jab at my vag (and kind of missed-- I was wearing baggy Indian leggings called Chowkidars under a baggy dress that fell about 2 inches above my knees, a sweater and a scarf).
Now readers, as you will continue to read you shall see that I am no new victim of sexual harrassment. I have been gazed at, grazed and grabbed. Sexually advanced upon by men in clothing shops telling me I could "really fill out a sari" to packs of 5 year olds with hungry hands assailing me and Nina on the street. But this, dear readers, was shocking. Usually I would yell: "Ma-bahen nahee hai kyaa?? Bahoot bigara!! Payshrum!" But I just turned and watched him SPRINT down the street. This dude seriously hauled a$$. The kind of run where your legs are pumpig so furiously that your heels hit your butt with every stride. And I just turned and watched him run for a couple seconds. It never once occured to me to chase him. Too shocked to yell. And there is never any point in reporting this kind of thing. Because the description of the assailant? Oh he was about 5'8'', black hair, brown eyes, jeans, black wind breaker, knock-off Converse sneakers. In the college area where I live, that describes about 20% of the men here. And I'd have to communicate with the police. Notoriously no better.
After the few seconds of shock, I kind of just laughed it off and kept walking home. I mean, it was pretty comical seeing that guy run so fast after a failed attempt at a crotch-grab. And funny too that this is not necessarily a routine part of the day. And that it happens everywhere and all the time, as you shall read further, readers. And I must keep my head because for every 1 poon-jab, there are a thousand other males who don't make me flinch.
EPISODE 2: ANYONE ELSE WANT A FEEL?!
This day was quite ridiculous.
Picture me cruising down mad packed streets of Chandni Chowk, the bomb spot for shopping spices, wholesale fabric and quite near to Jama Masjid (the biggest Mosque in India). Chandni Chowk is deep in the heart of Old Delhi, and quite near where I live (like 4 metro stops away). I am walking down the street in teal leggings, a black mini skirt and a huge, baggy grey tshirt (that covers my bum)--essentially, I am meeting the typical requirements of propriety for India, but, admittedly, I should probably have been wearing baggy pants or traditional Indian clothing in this part of the city, but I really didnt expect more harassment than usual in my day's get-up.
So I'm walking down the street and this guy behind me basically pulls what I call the credit card swipe--when a dude is walking with his hands straight at his sides and basically slides one in between your ass cheeks, pretending its just part of his walking stride. Worse thing about sexual harassment here is that they always try and act like its an innocent mistake. Maybe its like that in the states sometimes too, though I can only recall really obvious full-apple harassment grabs back home. So I whip around and say something like "Get the fuck off me! Payshrum! (shameless)," and dude just scurries down a random side alley. And to put this in context, I had just ended a week of frustration so deep I was not leaving my apartment much except for class because the thought of traveling on the metro was so odious that I could not bring myself to do it (most harassment happened on the packed cars of the metro, but now there is a womens only car--MIRACLE--so no more harassment! Or not as much).
Okay after I heave a sigh of frustration/ "WHO DO THESE PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE" it starts monsoon pouring, of course (did I mention that India just had the gnarliest monsoon since 1947? Literally rained 27 out of 30 days in September. Hard). So I am soaked. Get some spices, get a few dudes who brush across your chest with the sides of their body when there is plenty of room on the sidewalk that makes physical contact totally unnecessary (how a tit on your shoulder is pleasurable to some of these dudes is not beyond me, but then again, a lot of things are beyond the realm of "logic").
We wind our way to the metro, accidentally taking a wrong side street for a couple minutes that leads to a dead end. Not big deal usually, but in a downpour while you're late for Hindi class? Sucks! So we finally get to the metro and the platform that leads down to the metro is PACKED. Like sardines. Definitely weird, but here's my explanation: so most metro stops have a set of about 6 stairs that lead to the stairs that lead down to the trains so that when it rains the metro doesn't flood. Chandni Chowk is no exception. Additionally, there is a covered pathway leading towards the main shopping streets at this particular stop. So all the people that had gotten off the metro just didnt want to get their feet wet (they were safe on the steps) and were crowding this little awning; there was mad backup from people down below trying to get up, too. And the escalator was out of service as well (a contraption that young men will shove grandmothers out of their way to get on. Seriously. At first I thought it was because people in Delhi are lazy--a problematic assumption, I know, but a friend of a friend explained that its because escalators are so new in India lots of people are super stoked on them--why NOT take the escalator?!).
So the stairs are totally packed full. A wall of people about 20 breasts wide heaving upwards, letting a mere trickle 2 sad souls broad down into the belly of the metro. Needless to say there was a lot of grabbing and swiping going on down there, even in my defense stance (hand across the chest and another behind the back, guarding the rump). Old and young alike! Anyways, we finally get into the metro to take the 3 stops to Hindi. And of course the train is packed shoulder to shoulder as we are about to stop at a huge transfer point. At this stage in the journey I am already ranting about assgrabs and ignorance. And as we pull up to the Kashmere Gate transfer stop, I get the deepest swipe with a twist and I spin around and shove the suspected young rapscallion and start telling him off in Hindi and English: "WHO THE FUCK JUST TOUCHED ME!? PAYSHRUM! BAHENCHODE!" And then I turn to the rest of the car "Anyone else want a feel? I'm western so I'll probably like it! UGHHH" And a woman waiting for another train on the platform makes eye contact with me and her jaw drops. And the rest of the train is just snickering and wide-eyed--what did that white woman just say?? And keep in mind that throughout this entire ordeal I am COMPLETELY soaked from the rain. Dripping shower sweat monsoon wet!
And my dearest friend Nina, who was with me through it all, just starts laughing and I start to laugh and cry at the ridiculousnes of the entire situation.
EPISODE 3: Indian boys very dirty
This episode happened back in the day. Something like that weekend in July when the gang went to Rishikesh (the yoga capital of da world). The Beatles went there to do some yoga in '68 and backpackers have been learning the art of sun salutations ever since. Also, Rishikesh is right on the Ganges and is thus quite a holy pilgrim town so there were many Indian tourists there in addition to the copious backpackers and yoga-teacher-hopefuls. Being a white in a pilgrim tourist town in the middle of summer when backpackers are few and far between because the heat is something like 100 degrees Farenheit was really like being another one of the attractions. So there were pictures being taken of us like mad. Some ask, "Ma'am one photo please? Ma'am? Ma'am?!" and some just try to sneak pics with camera phones of their shoulders or right in front of your face. These pictures can get you into trouble. At first we were always "nice" about it. What's the harm? Well I'll tell you.
Example 1: Dude at a Hindu shrine on the Ganges asks to take a picture with me. I allow it because he is dressed like a hilarious pseudo-American d-bag and why not? Then asks for my number and asks me to marry him.
Example 2: It is crazy hot. Ever looking like we just got out of a shower, either due to the surprise monsoon downpours or those 100 degrees of Farenheit pressing on our skin. Me and 3 other girls decide to hike to a waterfall that is supposed to be just outside of the town before we have to travel back to Mussoorie. We wind our way around sweaty roads and find the opening of the path by a large fresh water pool and a small roadside shack. We are victorious in the 15 minute mini-hike to the waterfall after trailing behind two local boys. The waterfall is small and there are a couple of local guys enjoying the cool rush, but the crush of fresh water is too satiating to resist. We all leap under the gush, fully clothed of course, and it is one of the most refreshing moments ever. After a 10 minute romp and a few pictures upon request, we begin our sweaty walk back to town. One of the guys that we had followed up the trail and that had taken our picture caught up to our group and starts asking about what school we go to, where we're from, the usual interrogation. I am down to practice my Hindi so I entertain his seemingly innocuous inquiries and then all the sudden he starts saying "indian boys very dirty" and I was like "peer boliye??" ('please speak again' in Hindi) and he kept saying "indian boys very dirty." At which point I mobbed up to the rest of the group. "Is anyone else hearing this!?! Am I alone here?!?!"
EPISODE 4: Chai on the side
This episode happened to a good friend on the same study abroad program as I. Near her apartment there are lots of delicious street foods that she and her housemates often frequented. Over time they all had become chummy with the vendors who sold delights ranging from samosas to chai. One evening their chai-wallah (wallah=person of, so a person who sells chai is called a chai-wallah, or a person from Delhi is called a Delhi-wallah) offered to bring them chai/snacks to their apartment (which is not uncommon. You can order anything under the sun and have it delivered to your door here). Basically, chai-wallah comes in and when my friend went to pay he just straight up groped her. In her house. And then just stood there until the shocked gropee told her roommate what happened and said roommate promptly removed the assailant.
Episode 5: Metrosexual Harassment
This is probably the worst story. No. It is the worst.
So theres this girl on the trip is really sweet and quiet. One afternoon she is on the metro going to class and of course it is body to body packed. She feels this guy touching her hand and keeps moving her hand away, trying to ignore him and make a little space for herself. But this dude is relentless and won't stop touching her. She finally looks down and sees that its not his hand thats touching hers, but his penis. And he is jerking off in the crowded metro, touching her hand. AWESOME.
Alright friends and family. Hope you aren't too alarmed. I'll be back in America in t-minus one month, I just have to go to Thailand and Australia really quick.
x's and o's
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